


Sometimes You Forget (FML)

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: FIx It, M/M, Post-Series, The Orgy Armada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-20 17:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you just need to hit the “reset” button.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes You Forget (FML)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Orgy Armada: The Second Coming
> 
> Prompt: Sometimes you forget

Sometimes, you throw the net into the ocean and it comes back full of crawfish and a stray crab here or there. The ecosystem is recuperating a lot faster than humanity, although Bass suspects there will be time still to build the world up again to destroy it. But hopefully not on his watch. 

Sometimes, he stands in the sand, looking west, and he thinks perhaps this little piece of the country formerly known as Mexico was where Connor’s feet once trod. A cactus blooming on a mesa may have regarded his smile. A carving in a tree may have been done by his hand. It is a dream, but it’s all he has now that’s he’s walked away from everything.

The sun sets on another day, and Bass takes his haul back up to his hut. He will shell the crawfish and cook it up for dinner. He will throw the crab into the tank - for later. He doesn’t have to worry about cold winters here, like they did in Philly. He’s amazed more people didn’t just migrate down south when the world ended. 

Perhaps their apocalypse was just nature’s way of taking care of itself. Sometimes, you just need to hit the “reset” button.

It’s noon and Bass is lazing about in a self-made hammock, smoking whatever passes for cigarettes these days that he traded some of his fish for at the local market. The people here like the blue-eyed gringo, who smiles shyly and keeps mostly to himself. He told them his name was Sebastian, and he likes the way it sounds in Spanish. For his last name, he uses “Baker”, and there’s no one alive in the world who can call bullshit on that one.

He hears the sound of horse hooves, recognizable even along the wet sand, and his hand lazily slips towards the handle of his shotgun. It’s probably just some traders passing by, nothing to get overly excited about, but old habits die hard. 

“You Baker?” someone asks from behind, voice muffled by a scarf, but not enough to hide an American accent.

“Who wants to know?” he responds.

“The ghost of Christmas past.”

Bass startles, flails for the shot gun, falls out of his hammock, his cigarette falling unsmoked to the porch boards.

“I’m not gonna shoot you, Bass.” A laugh, so warm and familiar, it wraps around Bass like a blanket, coats his ears like molasses.

“Jeremy… _Christ!_ ”

“Guess you could say that. Risen, like the Lord Our Savior Himself.” Jeremy chuckles. He’s wearing a wide-brimmed hat that makes him look like a renegade cowboy. His skin is browned from the sun and his hair is burned out with streaks of gold like a field of barley before harvest. 

“Jeremy… _fuck_.” It isn’t Sebastian Monroe’s moment of greatest eloquence, but then again, it’s not every day the best friend you had killed comes down for a visit.

Sometimes, you just go to where the Muses take you.

“So, when did you and I get married?” Jeremy smirks, leaning against the rickety balustrade of Bass’ sea-side villa. Well, it may not be much to an outsider, but it’s a villa to Bass.

“When did… what???”

“You took my last name?”

“Yeah… I….” Clearly the eloquence thing isn’t happening. There’s something unfurling inside Bass’ chest that he doesn’t even want to push down anymore. A happiness so keen, so overwhelming that he might choke on it. “You’re… not dead. You’re here.”

“Yeah. Heard you crazy kids saved the world. Thought it was safe to come out of hiding.”

“But I…”

“Ordered me shot?”

The sound that Bass emits is pathetic, even to his own ears.

“What can I say, General?” Jeremy’s grin is so bright, it might eclipse the sun. “Sometimes, you forget. Sometimes, you gotta forget.”

Bass slams him against the beams, hands tracing the outlines of that infuriatingly smug face he never thought he’d see again, before his mouth presses up against Jeremy’s, lips shut tightly, only feeling the pulse against the other man’s skin. Jeremy’s lips part beneath his and their breath commingles in a mutually exhaled sigh. The feel of Jeremy’s tongue stroking against Bass’ own is both foreign and familiar at once - it’s been too long since anyone’s kissed him like that.

“I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” Bass whispers once their mouths separate, his hands striving to relearn the new curves of Jeremy’s body. He seems stronger now, broader, more solid, more real than ever before. “What’s left of it,” he chuckles as Jeremy’s hand come to rest over the curves of his ass, possessively.

“Does this mean you’re over Miles?” Jeremy mouths into the curve of Bass’ neck.

“Sometimes, you forget,” Bass laughs, and kisses him again. 

They’ve shared many kisses before. Furtive kisses, desperate kisses, guilty kisses. But none of them taste as fine as the kisses of forgiveness. Behind Jeremy’s back, the ocean is lapping at the sand, washing away the hoof prints of his horse. One day it will wash away their ashes too. But not yet. Not yet.


End file.
